05.25.09
Potential Fruit
This picture may not look like much, but it is one branch of my apple tree. If you look closely at where the blossoms used to be, you can see several swelling stems, which is the sign that these blossoms have indeed set, and if all goes well, will produce lovely fruit. Maybe.
Which, of course, got me thinking. Have you ever been the kind of person who has the potential to bear lots of fruit? Do you have loads of talent, lots of potential, the confidence you need to get to fruition? I’ve got to be honest, sometimes I feel a lot like this branch. Out of this branch of set pre-fruit, maybe one or two will actually make it. And if we get a heck of a hail storm, not one of them has a chance. It’s not fruit until it’s fruit. Now, it’s just the potential to be fruit.
So back to me. I get this far a lot. I’ve got potential. And it looks like I’m going to get a lot of fruit out of my branch. But then the storms come. And it’s all I can take to hang on, to not give up. I’ll even tell myself that piece of hail is going to nail me. Or I get crowded out by a louder fruit, or a pushier fruit, or just a mean one. And even if I do make it, I’m smaller, I’m less, as I try to share the same space with the big fruit. I’ve got to tell you, it is rough business trying to be fruitful.
A lot of times I get to this point, where it looks like all I need to do is get to the finish line, and I stop looking for the difficulties. I think things should work out from here. I’ve done the hard part, set the thing in motion, now it should go well. But this is the time of attack. And the better I get at figuring that out, the more prepared I will be at protecting that little baby of goodness until the time comes to call it what it is, not what it could be.
I’ll keep track of that branch, and let you know who’s hanging on.
Blossoms lead to fruit
The blog is back, because the plants are back. And I can’t resist the scent of the blossoms on the air, or the dance of the tulip petals in the brisk early breezes. This is a great time of year in the yard because the fruit trees are just starting to bloom. I have a beautiful plum tree, two apple trees, two pear trees, and two cherry trees. The plum is just finishing her blooming time, and the pears are in full stride, enticing bees to the table. The apples are just ready to burst forth. And I stare at the cherry branches every day, looking for signs of their blossoms.
Of course there can’t be movement outside without a lesson to be learned. Today I was thinking about blossoms and fruit. The Bible talks about how “you will know them by their fruit,” a reference to Christians being known by the way they live their lives. It’s pretty easy to understand from anyone’s point of view, but as a fruit grower, I think there are some lessons left behind to those not staring at branches all day. So here are my thoughts:
Fruit never just appears on a tree. It is visible and delicious and a wonderful last step in a very intricate process. The process starts really right after last year’s season. After I picked apples last year, that tree started building up energy for this season. It began feeding and storing and preparing, even as it went to bed for the winter. Many a grower knows you have to fertilize in the fall or you won’t get many fruits the next year. that’s when the energy to fruit is collected. In the invisible time, when no one is looking, that tree is preparing, working, storing, growing.
Then, at just the right time (although I can never figure out how it knows when), the tree blooms. And they all bloom on time. The plum always blooms first, then the Bartlett pear, then the Braeburn apple. Each tree sends out the potential with open blossoms and easy pollen. I love to see the blossoms open and stretch out their petals to allow the bees in. They are open to possibility, and allow their potential to roam free. The opening, the pollenating, it’s all out of that blossom’s hands. All it does is receive and give.
Here comes the tricky time. This is the time when we see if any fruit has been set. It may have looked like all of the blossoms were set, all of the pollen was good. Every blossom should become a little fruit. But, as in life, not everything that looks like fruit is fruit. Some blossoms didn’t get enough pollen. Some didn’t get set in time. The rain comes, the wind comes, the hail comes, and some sets fall off the tree, unable to hold onto their progress. It’s hard to get fruit. There’s a lot of things pushing back against the tree. Fruit is difficult business.
Even those blossoms that do set fruit have an entire growing season to contend with. Some fruit doesn’t make it to maturity. Some rots and drops off. Some gets hit with more hail or wind. Some gets eaten from the inside by pests. Some fruits look ready to mature, but for some unknown reason they just give up, or stay small.
Then, at the right time, a well-fed tree, with the proper nutrients and time and opportunity, will bear a beautiful crop of delicious fruit. And picking time is joyous. Everything you’ve hoped for, waited for, watched for, comes happily true as juicy goodness drips from your chin. And you enjoy that which you cannot make happen.
In my life, I like to think of the 5th chapter of Galatians in terms of this. The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace — the fertilizer of God’s work in us; patience, kindness, goodness — the open blossoms of our heart; faithfulness, gentleness, self-control — the fruit of who we are to others as we let God work in us, feed us with His power in our lives. Then those around us enjoy the sweetness of who God is. And maybe our pollen will set some new fruit in them.
Meet Nancy Rue
I’m very excited for our guest on the blog this week. Nancy Rue is the author of over 100 books (many Christian fiction). She writes for both young girls (tweens) and adults. Her “Healing Waters,” Healing Stones” and “Healing Sands” books deal with overcoming life’s wounds, and they are must-read material. Her work is fantastic, but I’ve got to tell you, she is a really fantastic person. She is generous with her gifts, and kind to everyone. She loves to encourage people in their dreams, and to support them and give them opportunity and advice (in an age when many withhold these things). I met her at a writer’s conference where she was teaching plot last spring. I was such a rookie, and for most of the conference didn’t even feel like I should be there. But Nancy set me at ease and gave me confidence in the good things I did bring up. Her passion for story was infectious, and her class was fun and inspirational and hysterical and moving. I’d love to share her story, so here it is:
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I was 28 and a new mother when the urge to write seriously for publication overcame me – and ‘overcame’ is definitely the right word. It simply would not leave me alone, and I knew I had to do something about it. So, I took a leave of absence from teaching and vowed to give it my all, and if I wasn’t published in a year, I would know that wasn’t what I was supposed to do. I don’t recommend giving God that sort of ultimatum, but it did pan out in my case! I read, studied, and practiced, every day, like it was a real job (while making sure my toddler didn’t swallow too many of the buttons in the can of them I gave her to keep her occupied). Seven months later I sold a short story to a Methodist youth magazine, made $80, enough to have my electric typewriter repaired, and was on my way. I went to Mt. Hermon Christian Writer’s Conference and met amazing, helpful people who got me pointed in the right direction. As I look back now, I know it was all a God-thing.
My niche has found me. I write largely for girls ages 8-12, fiction and non-fiction, though I also write novels for women. I think my mission, rather than an age group, really defines my specialty. I write so that women of any age can find their true selves through God.
Any advice or philosophy of life/art for the readers: Two things. One, remember what Anton Chekov, the great Russian modern playwright said: “If you want to work on your art, work on your life.” According to Washington Irving, that requires much solitude and time for mind-play. I would add to that prayer and meditation. If your life isn’t true, your writing won’t be either. At least, that has been my experience. Two, I try to follow what St. Francis of Asissi is credited with saying: “Preach the Gospel always. Use words if necessary.” Those two things guide my journey as a writer and a Christian. When I stray from that, it all goes down the toilet.
You can learn more about my art, my life, my faith at www.nancyrue.com, which will lead you to my two blogs, and at www.FaithGirlz.com. I would love to have you visit!
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Have you thought about whether your life is true? It makes me want to hunt down that which is false. In attempting to write my story from the conference last year, I found myself writing on the surface, fixing the problems easily and not wanting to delve into character issues. I wanted it to be easy for the characters, because, frankly, I want it to be easy for me. I don’t want trouble in life, so creating it for my characters was tough. That was a great revelation to me. It drives how I look at life, and motivates me to act in ways I’m not always proud of. Thank you, Nancy, for being able to face your own truth, so you can bring it alive in us. I really appreciate it. And please check out her books. You will soon be a fan.
Meet James Bennett
If you’ve ever seen a James Bennett illustration, you will recognize his work with one glance. His talent truly is humor and realism combined, and his work is stunning — having so many layers to unravel. To me, his illustrations really are stories that are as entertaining as any movie. Here’s his story:
I was the kid in 1st grade that could draw almost anything,and the nuns would recruit (force) me to do the drawings of saints around the school. By the time I started painting hockey scenes from the sports page at 13, I had always just assumed that I’d be an artist for my entire life.
But I found myself 3 years out of high school,working multiple jobs to pay the rent, and my only artistic success was getting the occasional offer to paint someone’s dog for $20. So I swallowed my pride, moved back with my parents and became a “mature” art student at a local community college. Fully motivated to never return to the factory jobs, I aced my classes for 2 years and won a scholarship to The School of Visual Arts in NYC. There, being taught by professional illustrators, I somehow put together a small (6 pieces) portfolio and began to get work right out of school.
I had always loved the artists who could make me laugh, like Mort Drucker and Jack Davis. Yet I aspired to be a great painter, like Maxfield Parrish and Frank Frazetta. So my style, which was so important to establish as a young illustrator, became a blend of them all. Being able to do funny images and incorporate them into realistic environments became an absolutely enjoyable profession, which has lasted almost 25 years.
One of the most important things that I constantly remind myself is to invest in yourself. That is, no matter what it is that you do, you need to not only believe and trust in your instincts, but be willing to invest the time and the money to make things happen. For myself, that means investing the effort to do large scale work for prints or promotional work, buying the scanners and printers and cameras, and most importantly, investing the time in my schedule to write, or think creatively, even when no real deadline exists. It’s that type of investing in your career that will always, eventually, pay you back.
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I love the idea of investing in your talents. I think sometimes people think, “You’ve got it or you don’t.” But I agree that raw talent is refined with investment. Thank you for reminding me to invest. I appreciate that so much. You can check out James’ portfolio at www.richardsolomon.com/bennett.html. It’s worth the trip by to visit, and I can already hear the oohs and aahs as you scroll through his magnificent work. Thank you, James.
minty fresh memory
I hadn’t had a mint Tic-Tac in years. I’m not really a mint person (I’m actually addicted to gum, which is weird). But one day last summer, my husband and I decided to pick up a little plastic box of the nostalgic mints. They sat in the drawer for a few weeks, seemingly unimportant, sharing the drawer with extra keys and rubber bands, and a few expired coupons. There they stayed, dormant, unnoticed.
One day, who knows why, I opened the drawer, saw them, and thought, “what the heck.” Deep into a conversation with my husband, I hardly noticed popping the white, smooth oval into my mouth. Until — it hit me. The sensation of the cool mint pressed into my tongue, and suddenly I was no longer in the dining room. I was in an old VW van in small town Wyoming, with my Papaw driving down the two-lane road. I could see his icy white hair, feel the caramel-colored upholstery of the old van, ride with the jerking of that long stick shift. I was a child again.
I grabbed Darryl’s arm, and he looked at me, confused and a bit stunned. What had just happened? What had happened was a taste of my former life. My grandfather was a Baptist preacher, and because he had to talk to so many people, he constantly carried mint Tic-Tacs. The only time I ever had them was when I was with him. And so the sensation of that mint on my tongue enveloped me with the presence of my wonderful grandfather.
He was a great man in everyone’s opinion. A wonderful speaker, kind man, funny and giving. I adored his visits, when he would take us for long walks to old-fashioned soda fountains and baseball games in the park. He would sing us nonsensical stories and make up words like heck-ty-copter and caughphy (coffee). And when he came up the stairs in the morning, he would moan like a spooky ghost, and we would giggle with glee. He would hold my hand on walks in the woods, and we would sing about five little ducks and wonderful West Virginia. And I loved every minute of it.
The beauty of life is that one aroma, a single taste, the color of the sky at a certain time of day, all of these things can connect you to the people you love. No one is really ever gone. No memory ever too far away. On sad days, lonely days, or days when I just don’t feel like anyone sees who I am, all I have to do is taste the truth I know — that life is made up of moments, memories and meaning. Life is people who matter — who stop to show you love, agree with who you are, and bring meaning to the smallest of things.
I long to see my Papaw again, and I look forward to sharing a mint or two with him in heaven. Until then, I can find him any time I need him in that drawer. I guess there was more stored in there than I realized.
I hope you can remember places, fragrances, music, food — things that are yours. I’d love to hear about them.
